by Cassie Miles
Inside the cabin she marched directly up to Heflin, introduced herself and shook his hand. “Special Agent Heflin, have you received any other calls from the kidnappers?”
“That’s none of your concern, Miss Ferris.”
“Have you straightened out the problems in obtaining the ransom?”
“Again, that’s not—”
“What have you been doing?” Disdainfully, she glared at the mess in her cabin and the clutter of his forensic equipment.
“You’re in no position to ask questions,” he said. “You’re supposed to answer to me.”
“Fine.” She picked up a rocking chair that had been overturned, dusted off the seat and sat. “Go ahead. Ask.”
“In case it escaped your attention, you’re a suspect, Miss Ferris.”
“Why?”
“You’re close to Joey. You know his schedule. You could have arranged the abduction.”
“So could anyone else,” Mace pointed out. Proximity sure as hell wasn’t proof of guilt. “Besides, Nicole wasn’t at the cabin when her roommate was kidnapped. She was at the café, watching the Bronco game. They lost. Twenty-four to sixteen.”
Heflin shot him an angry look, then turned back to Nicole. “You came back here and purposely contaminated the crime scene.”
“By changing out of my wet clothing?” She scoffed. “That hardly seems nefarious.”
“Why did you break the window in the bathroom?” Heflin demanded.
“I didn’t.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not stupid enough to fake a break-in by shattering the glass from the wrong side.”
“So you think you’re smart,” Heflin said. “Smart enough to stage your roommate’s abduction?”
“I don’t think kidnapping is a particularly clever scheme,” she said. “Besides, if I’d been in charge, I would have asked for lots more ransom.”
Mace frowned. Her snippy attitude was sure to provoke a more aggressive approach from Heflin. Intimidation was standard interrogation technique. Plus, the special agent wouldn’t take kindly to having this delicate blonde get the best of him in Q and A.
“How much more ransom?” Heflin asked.
“Ten million.”
“Why?”
She smiled. “Why not?”
“You’re not so smart.” Heflin grabbed the arms of her rocking chair. He got right up in her face. “Last night you ducked out of the sheriff’s house to meet with the kidnappers. You collaborated with them. They want you to deliver the ransom. I believe you’re guilty, Miss Ferris.”
“Is it a crime to care about what happens to my roommate?”
“Aiding and abetting,” Heflin said. “Kidnapping is a capital offense. You’ll do your time in a federal prison.”
Though she stared back at him with an unblinking gaze, Mace sensed a crack in her veneer of poise. Heflin was too close. His dominating physical presence breached her personal space.
In a cool voice Nicole asked, “Are you quite finished?”
“I haven’t even gotten started.”
She glanced at her wristwatch. “Exactly how long will it take for you to assert your manhood?”
Heflin’s eyes bulged as his face turned brick red. His grip on the arms of her rocking chair was white-knuckled. He looked as if he was ready to haul off and smack her upside the head.
Mace had to interrupt. “Agent Heflin, maybe you could use a glass of water.”
“I’m not talking to you, Sheriff.”
“The altitude is a little higher here,” Mace said. “Looks like you’re breathing hard. I wouldn’t want you to keel over from a heart attack.”
When Mace touched his shoulder, Heflin sprang away from Nicole and confronted him. “Don’t you know any better than to interrupt an interrogation?”
“Is that what you call this?” Mace kept his voice level. “I don’t see a tape recorder. I don’t see you taking notes.”
“That’s not how I operate.” Heflin pointed Mace toward the kitchen. “Step this way.”
The forensics team had left their mark in the kitchen with a faint dusting of powder for fingerprinting. On the counter, a rectangular black console with an audio level indicator and headset awaited the next call from the kidnappers.
Mace pointed to the equipment. “I think it’s best to have Nicole talk with the kidnappers. She has a rapport with Joey.”
“Frankly, Sheriff, I don’t care what you think. This is my investigation.” Heflin folded his arms across his chest and scowled. “I’m FBI trained to negotiate with kidnappers.”
“Is that so?” Mace knew the statistics. Abduction for ransom was a rare occurrence within the boundaries of the continental United States. “How many cases like this have you handled?”
“A number.”
And what was that number? One? Ten? Zero? “Nowadays, it seems like most kidnappings are teenagers or kids. The criminal’s motivation is deviant sexual behavior. Not ransom. This situation with Joey is real old-fashioned.”
“My methods are state-of-the-art.” Heflin’s face was still red with anger. Even the whites of his eyes were bloodshot. “In questioning Nicole, I’m using complex, psychology-based techniques for obtaining information.”
What a load of bull! “How so?”
“First, I’m letting her know who’s boss,” Heflin said. “For your information, Nicole was a runaway, probably abused as a kid.”
“So, your strategy is to terrorize her.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to get information,” Heflin said.
“Including abuse?” Mace was so disgusted he could spit. Either Heflin was a clueless idiot or a bully. “I sincerely hope these complex methods of yours don’t include beating up a witness.”
“I do what’s necessary.”
“Not in my county.” Mace squared his shoulders, ready for a confrontation. “Did I miss something here? I thought we were still in America.”
“This is my case, Sheriff. Back off.”
Mace wouldn’t mind getting physical. He was fairly sure he could take Mr. Complex Techniques without breaking a sweat. “You can rest assured of this, Agent Heflin. If you lay a hand on Nicole, you’ll regret it.”
“Whose side are you on, anyway?”
“The right side.”
Mace’s primary reason for coming to the cabin was to search for the notebook. He hadn’t expected to encounter this extreme level of stupidity. It was definitely time to take matters into his own hands.
Leaving the kitchen, he went back to where Nicole was sitting in the rocking chair. He gently patted her arm. “I’m going to get out of the way for a while so Agent Heflin can talk to you. But if you feel the need for assistance, give a shout.”
Her eyes warmed as she smiled up at him. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“So am I.”
Leaving Heflin and Nicole, he made his way through the cabin to Joey’s studio where he slipped inside and closed the door behind him. Nicole had told him that the sketchbook was on the counter under the wall of multipaned windows. Amid boxes of charcoals and helter-skelter tubes of acrylic paint, he found several blue sketchbooks of varying sizes and shapes. He flipped through the smallest one, finding a lot of doodles that made no sense and a Picasso-like rendering of a woman with four breasts. Another sketchbook seemed to be totally devoted to shadows on pine trees. In the third book, he found scribbled phone numbers on the cover.
By rights, he ought to turn this over to the Feds. The hell he would! Mace tore off the sketchbook cover, folded it and stuck it in his inner jacket pocket.
There might be other clues in this studio. In his paintings, Joey might have subconsciously revealed his plans. Though Mace had already taken digital photos of several of these artworks when he first investigated at the cabin, it always helped to see the real thing.
He cocked his head to stare at the hellish painting of Nicole. He didn’t know much about art, but he suspected that Joey’s intention was to contrast Nicole’s lovely delicat
e face—the visage of an angel—with a demonic interior. It was a common theme. Many Ute fables spoke of evil masquerading as beauty.
But this painting was also filled with rage and hatred. There was cruelty in the way the skin had been peeled back from her fingers. Whether or not she was aware of her transgression, Nicole must have done something to make Joey mad. His artistic treatment of the other background figures was no less vicious. Mace peered closely at a satyr-looking beast. The creature’s face resembled someone Mace knew. His name was Don Blackbird, and he lived southwest of Elkhorn in a little town called Las Ranas.
It might be worth a trip to hear what Don Blackbird had to say about Joey the artist.
When Mace returned to the front room of the cabin, Heflin’s face was still flushed. In contrast, Nicole seemed perfectly in control, ignoring a sheaf of documents he waved beneath her nose.
“According to these records,” Heflin said, “there have been several times in your life when you weren’t working. How did you support yourself?”
“I’m a waitress,” she said. “I might have worked for a few places that didn’t keep accurate employment records.”
“You didn’t report your income. You defrauded the government.”
“Or I might have taken a vacation.”
“Who would know?” Heflin demanded. “I want names. Family and friends.”
“My stepfather lives in San Francisco. I haven’t seen him since I was sixteen. I have no other relations.”
“I want names,” Heflin repeated.
She rattled off three names and phone numbers. Two of them lived in San Francisco. The other was in Phoenix. “I’m not sure if those numbers are still good. I really don’t stay in touch.”
“Before you moved in with Joey, who did you work for in Denver?”
“A restaurant that went out of business.” She exhaled an impatient sigh. “Why don’t we cut to the chase, Agent Heflin? You want to know if I associate with known criminals. The answer is no. Never. Certainly not since I’ve been in Elkhorn.”
“I’ll be questioning the people at the Elkhorn Café,” he said.
“Knock yourself out.”
“Let’s go over the night of the crime again,” he said. “Start with when your car ran out of gas.”
As Nicole repeated her narrative, Mace wondered why Heflin hadn’t pushed to find out more about her recent history. She consistently avoided questions about her time spent in Denver.
Though Mace didn’t think her evasion had anything to do with Joey’s kidnapping, he was curious. Something had happened to Nicole in Denver, and it was one of the keys to explaining her complicated personality—her unusual mix of a princess’s poise and the street smarts of a guttersnipe.
As she completed her story, she folded her hands primly on her lap. “Anything else?”
Heflin’s wild-eyed accusations seemed to have played out. He looked spent, incapable of intimidating a chipmunk. Still, he doggedly repeated, “Tell me again about last night when you met with the kidnappers.”
“I only saw Joey. He told me that the kidnappers want me to deliver the ransom.”
“Not going to happen,” Heflin said. “You won’t get your pretty little hands on that money.”
“If we don’t follow instructions, the kidnappers might hurt Joey. Probably they’ll hurt me, too.”
Heflin said, “I could take you into protective custody.”
“I think not.” She jumped to her feet so quickly that the rocking chair whipped back and forth like a pendulum. “I intend to stay with Mace’s sister.”
Mace stepped up beside her. “It’s the safest place in town. I’ll have deputies watching the front and back doors.”
“Last night,” Heflin pointed out, “your house was broken into.”
“We’ve secured the premises,” Mace said coldly. “The ranch is safe.”
“You know, Sheriff. I’ve warned you before about interfering.” Wearily Heflin lumbered to his feet. “If you keep poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, I’ll have you removed.”
You and what army? Mace capped his hostility before speaking. In this circumstance, it was better to be rational. “I’m trying to be helpful. Now that you’ve seen the accommodations at the Elkhorn Lodge, you’ll probably agree that they aren’t particularly conducive to protective custody.”
“The Lodge,” Heflin muttered. “The place is a pigsty run by a crazy woman.”
“And you probably don’t want to waste the time of your expert crew on bodyguard duty,” Mace said.
“We’d be better off moving our base of operations to this cabin.”
“In which case, you don’t want a woman taking up one of the bedrooms.” Mace turned to Nicole. “Go pack a few of your things and we’ll head back to the ranch. Be quick.”
As she darted toward her former bedroom at the cabin, Mace almost pitied Special Agent Heflin. He’d expected a classy mountain lodge, and he got Libby Tynsdale instead. Nicole wasn’t the easily intimidated witness he’d expected. And the kidnappers still hadn’t called back. Sometimes investigations don’t work out as neatly as in the movies.
Heflin sank into the rocking chair Nicole had vacated. “She’s involved in this, Sheriff. I’m not sure how. But she’s a suspect.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Mace promised. “You have my phone number in case you need to be in touch.”
Nicole raced out of her bedroom carrying a few clothes in her arms and a gym bag that she hadn’t bothered to zip. Her haste to escape Heflin and his questions was obvious. She charged directly to the front door. “Bye, Agent Heflin.”
“Hold it!” Heflin hauled himself out of the rocking chair in a halfhearted attempt to reestablish his authority. “Don’t leave town, Miss Ferris.”
Chapter Eight
Nicole was out the door, dodging through the pine trees on her way back to Mace’s Explorer. A cool sense of relief flowed through her. She’d gotten through the interrogation without falling apart. She hadn’t been flustered, frightened and furious. Not a failure, she was…fine.
Mace unlocked the car door for her, and she scrambled inside with her clothes and gym bag clutched in her arms. Safely in the passenger seat, she beamed at him.
“You did great,” Mace said. “Your comment about Heflin’s manhood might not have been the best way to get into his good graces, but—”
“I wasn’t trying to win a popularity contest.”
“Don’t worry. Nobody would call you Miss Congeniality.”
As they drove away from the cabin, she stowed her gym bag in the back seat. “Heflin isn’t going to let me take the kidnapper’s calls, is he?”
“Nope.”
“And he’s for sure not going to let me deliver the ransom.”
“Not a chance,” Mace said.
“I can live with that.”
She settled back in the passenger seat and relaxed. Through the windshield she viewed the wide-open Western landscape, unfettered by the complexities of cities. In this vast plain, bordered by foothills and snow-capped peaks, she was a tiny speck—hardly bigger than a tumbleweed—who could easily disappear and never be missed. Unless, somehow, she made her mark on this land.
Mace drove past the turnoff to his ranch house.
“Whoa, there, cowboy. Where are we going?”
“To visit a demon.”
She might have been worried, but he was grinning. “A demon?”
“When I was in Joey’s studio, I noticed something about that graveyard painting.”
“The one with me as Queen of the Damned?” She shuddered, wishing she could forget that disturbing image.
“You weren’t the only one in the picture,” he said. “One of the demons had the face of someone I know. His name is Don Blackbird. Does that ring a bell for you?”
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. It was an unusual name—one she would have remembered. “Never heard of him.”
“He’s active with the com
mercial side of the Ute tribe. His father helped set up the pottery factory. Don is involved in the reservation casinos. I think I know where to find him.”
“So we’re going to pay him a visit,” she said, “to see what he knows about Joey.”
“And I wanted you to come along to see if you recognize him.” He reached into his jacket pocket and took out the cover of the blue sketchbook. “Take a look at these names and phone numbers. See if there’s anything familiar.”
Concentrating intently, she deciphered Joey’s scribbles and read several names aloud. “There’s a George and Mark. And Jimbo.”
“Any phone prefixes?”
“Some are Denver and some are here.” But none of the names and numbers jumped out at her. Her fingers touched the imprints, trying to read them like Braille, wishing she could turn these random scratchings into something significant. “What are you going to do with these names?”
“I’ll turn them over to Barry. He’ll track them down and see if any of these guys have criminal records.”
“Shouldn’t you have given this clue to the Feds?”
“That would have been correct procedure.”
Behind his dark glasses, his expression was masked, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Is there a reason you’re deviating from correct procedure?”
“Let’s just say that I have a different theory from Heflin’s. He thinks the kidnapping was done by professionals. I don’t.”
Nicole understood. From the very start of this investigation—even when they assumed it was only a robbery—Mace believed Joey was involved in the crime. Apparently, he was now setting out to prove his hypothesis. It was an arrogant decision, but she thoroughly approved. If anyone could find these kidnappers and rescue Joey, it was Mace. “I’m glad you’re investigating on your own.”
“I’ve got nothing to lose but my pride. And everything to gain. We might find Joey.”
“Mace’s law,” she said. “You don’t mind going outside the rules.”
“Look who’s talking.”
She almost laughed out loud. Together, they made the most unlikely pair of rebels: a straight-arrow sheriff and a runaway trophy wife.
